The Spirit and the Letter
by snags
Summary: A quick, silly stand-alone ghost story, in honor of the holidays! The courtroom, as it turns out, is haunted. Involves original characters out of necessity.


October 31, 2176, 9:26am

Prosecutor Ivy Contreras clutched her satchel against her chest as she hurried from the rail station to the courthouse. **Knowing** you were early wasn't much help when you **felt **like you were late. The courthouse was only a block and a half away, though, and she did feel better once she began to climb the impressive steps that led to the main entrance.

"Ivy."

She turned at the huff-puffing voice behind her and saw Avery Edmund making his red-faced way to the top.

There were good defense attorneys, she knew, people who made it their business to defend those caught on the wrong side of an overwhelming system, but Avery was not one of them. He'd briefly been her boss during a law school internship, and when she'd made her gracious speech at the end of her time with his firm, saying how the experience would be invaluable in her future career, the part she didn't say out loud was that the experience had pretty much cemented her decision to fight for the prosecution.

"Feeling some nerves today? No one would blame you, a rookie lawyer with a case on Halloween." He chuckled without sufficient reason to do so.

_Pig. This isn't my first case. It's...my third. _Avery wasn't especially tall, but he did make her wish she was more than five-two herself.

"So if I know you, you're here early. Once a teacher's pet, always a...phew, they make these steeper every six months." They had reached the top of the stairs. The public notice listing the day's trials included hers, of course, not due to start for another hour. "I knew it, Miss Priss Prosecutor. But I know a great way to use up some of that time. You ever hear the ghost story about this place?"

"No." She wasn't in the mood to hear about a revenge drama or a miscarriage of justice. Or any of Avery's jokes.

"Don't give me that disapproving face, you remind me of my Sunday school teacher. Anyway, it's nothing gruesome. Not a story either, not really. More like a...series of incidents." He was slipping into his courtroom voice. For her part, she was tempted to walk away...except he'd just follow. And it **was **Halloween.

"A series of incidents?"

"There's that curiosity. But anyway, that's what they say. That this courthouse is haunted."

"Someone convicted here?"

"Now that'd be a reasonable guess, but no. Apparently this ghost is a lawyer like you and me. And this lawyer is supposed to show up when your case is going the wrong way and whisper in your ear. Tell you all the smart things to say that you wouldn't think of unless it was too late." He laughed again. "Like your fairy godmother. It's all hot air, though, so don't get too twitchy. I've heard this story a dozen times if I've heard it once, but the stories, they don't corroborate each other."

"In what way?"

"No one agrees on what the ghost is like. Usually people say it's a man, but a few say no, it's a woman. If it's a man, then they mostly say he's tall - except for the ones who say he's short. One person said he played the freaking guitar through the whole trial, that was my favorite. Oh, and this ghost doesn't seem to know whether he - yeah, or she - is defense or prosecution. Now what kind of trial lawyer doesn't know that?"

"You ever met the ghost yourself, Avery?" She meant the question to sound challenging, and was afraid it came out credulous instead.

"Nah, not me! I never needed an imaginary friend to win in there. On the other hand, pumpkin, you might wanna go see if you can make friends. Adios." He turned away, chuckling again, and the retort she made under her breath involved vocabulary her abuela would not have approved of.

When she walked into the courtroom after washing her face and going through her papers once more in private, she saw Avery looking back at her from the defense's table. His name hadn't been on any of the paperwork she'd seen - but the lean young man next to him was the right age for the bottom rung at his firm. Damn him.

It didn't go well.

The accused was a real estate developer who - she was certain - was attempting to defraud an elderly woman out of her small home and the parcel of land it sat on. A set of signed and dated legal documents describing the ostensible sale of the property (and matching a set produced by Avery's client) had indeed been found in the woman's house, but she insisted that she had never seen them before. The form that would have waived the sale if submitted within thirty days of receipt lay untouched in the sheaf.

The papers had to have been forged. And she'd said so, but...

"Your Honor, despite the prosecution's continued harping on the validity of these documents, the fact remains that an independent expert found no conclusive evidence of forgery. The defense requests that this line of questioning be brought to an end."

"But the independent expert found no hard evidence that the documents were **not **forged, either. In fact, the results were inconclusive. The signatures purported to belong to Mrs. Burkes are illegible."

"Your Honor, it has been amply established that Mrs. Burkes has terrible handwriting, whatever other sterling qualities she may possess as a member of society."

_She's a little old lady with arthritis! Of course she has terrible handwriting! _Not that she said that out loud. Instead, she said: "In light of the indefinite results of the first assessment, Your Honor, we submitted the documents to a second analyst, at a laboratory possessing some additional equipment." And she'd been all set to present this more damning set of results when the young man across the room smirked, for no apparent reason, and broke in.

"And that is where, I'm afraid, this aspect of the inquiry must come to an end, in the interests of upholding the rights of my client."

"Your Honor, the permissibility of a second analysis has already been established-"

"Unfortunately for Prosecutor Contrary - I beg your pardon, Prosecutor Contreras - that is not the issue to which I refer. Instead, I must inform the court, with regret, that the chain of custody was broken before the documents reached the second laboratory, rendering the results inadmissible as evidence." And with that he produced a pile of materials that, taken together, did indicate that the file in question was left in an area with inadequate security for the space of two hours.

_That was my case._

-Oh no, I don't think it was.-

Ivy jumped and blinked, and the judge gave her an odd look.

_I'm hearing things._

-You are hearing useful things, I assure you. There are worse fates.-

The voice was cultured, wry, and not at all familiar, and she had the terrible, sinking suspicion that she was the only person who could hear what it was saying. She absolutely refused to look sideways to see what was **not **talking into her ear, certainly not. Her mentor was investigating a drug trafficking case north of here today, which meant that she was alone behind the rail.

-You're stubborn...but that's fine. Better than the alternative in this line of work.-

The loss of the second report would have been distressing on its own, but the voice was an even more immediate distraction. It was a relief when the judge called a fifteen-minute recess, though she didn't move.

_He did it. He forged those documents, I know he did._

-I quite agree with you there.-

_But what use is that? My opinion doesn't matter. And neither does yours, you're imaginary._

The voice gave a laugh, or at least an amused cough. -I may be imaginary, but that does not prevent me from being logical.-

_So now what?_

-Use the evidence you still have.-

_The inconclusive results? They're not good enough!_

-Not those. Look at your copies of the legal documents and tell me what's missing.-

_Nothing is missing._

-Oh? They were delivered to her house just like that?-

_Well, in an - in an envelope._

-Exactly. Was that sent for analysis as well? And is it in the court record?-

_No. And yes._

-Excellent!- The voice receded.

She decided that, in the interests of good time management, it might be best to look at the evidence now and get herself an appointment with a psychiatrist later.

Her opponent, if anything, smirked even harder when she began to ask about the envelope.

"According to the police department, Mrs. Burkes' fingerprints were not found on the envelope in which the documents arrived at her home."

"As Mrs. Burkes herself has already said, she is fond of gardening. Mail in her neighborhood is delivered in the morning, before the sun is too high. She must have brought the mail in while she had her gardening gloves on."

"Then may I direct the court's attention to what **does **appear on the envelope? To the postmark?"

"The postmark is perfectly in keeping with the timeframe during which my client mailed the envelope across the city to Mrs. Burkes."

"This is correct, your honor, but would you please now direct your attention to the mailing address?"

"The address visible on the envelope is clearly that of the property in question. The defense requests that the prosecution stop wasting time."

"Objection! This may be Mrs. Burkes' address, and this may be a legitimate postmark - but when this envelope was mailed, it was not sent to this address! It was sent elsewhere for the purpose of acquiring the postmark. And introduced to her home at a later date." And with that, she carefully peeled the address label away. But for the steam coming from the cup of coffee she'd acquired during the recess, it wouldn't have come off without tearing.

She revealed a worn, but blank, surface.

The defense was highly amused.

When she pointed out a thread of eraser rubber smudged black with graphite and stuck to the sticker's back, the defense was much less amused. And when the faint remaining marks turned out to be consistent with the address of the defendant's girlfriend, even less.

And when the developer was found guilty not only of the original charges but of mail fraud, obstruction of justice, and breaking and entering, she finally dared to turn her head to the side farther from the bench - and caught the briefest glimpse of a man in - a pink suit? really? - who gave her a narrow but likable smile and abruptly wasn't there.

* * *

November 1, 2176, 10:16am

October 31st is Halloween. November 1st is the Day of the Dead. She returned to the courthouse the next morning, feeling a little awkward, with a pot of marigolds in her arms. Luckily, the notice board didn't list anything for Courtroom No. 3.

She let herself in. Without the people, without the tension, the courtroom with its gleaming wood felt like a very different place.

_Hello?_

Nothing.

She had just placed the flowers on the prosecution's desk when a different voice said, "There's nobody here."

What she planned to say, as she turned around, was, "Except the two of us?" but what she actually ended up saying was, "Your Honor?"

She wasn't quite sure where he'd come from, but it was definitely the judge, bald head and long grey beard and all.

"Marigolds! What a nice thought. I like chrysanthemums myself. And lilies. But it takes all kinds."

"These are – Your Honor, have you heard that this courtroom is supposed to be haunted?"

"Oh yes. But like I said, Miss Contrary - "

_Contreras._

" - there's nobody here at present."

She tried to pick her words carefully. "But...sometimes, there is?"

"Well, you're bringing flowers after all!"

"Who is he?"

"Oh! Yes, that was amusing. I had expected it to be his sister, in your case."

"The courthouse has more than one ghost?"

"Oh, several, Miss Maryquite. Half a baker's dozen at least. But they're not **permanent **residents, goodness no. They merely stop by now and then. Awfully good of them, really. They have better things to be doing, much more fun than hanging about in the smell of floor polish! But you know, I think I was right to ask. They were such nice people, after all, when they weren't shouting. And I'll make sure they hear about the flowers."

"Thank you," Ivy said. It seemed to be the thing to say.

"You're most welcome. And I hope you won't think too hardly of me for inviting some old colleagues by now and then? We all need something to brighten up our routine." He paused, stroking his beard. "And do you know, I don't think I'm quite ready to retire. Good afternoon, Miss Contreras."

It wasn't the afternoon yet. But she let that go.


End file.
